<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Pyotr by akane42me</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23599555">Pyotr</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/akane42me/pseuds/akane42me'>akane42me</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Gen</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-04-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-03 00:35:41</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,633</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23599555</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/akane42me/pseuds/akane42me</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
      <p>Written for Easter Eggs on MFUWSS 2020</p><p>To Spikesgirl58, who asked for a story involving Peter Rabbit. Happy Easter!</p>
    </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>17</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Pyotr</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Written for Easter Eggs on MFUWSS 2020</p><p>To Spikesgirl58, who asked for a story involving Peter Rabbit. Happy Easter!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Pyotr   </strong>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>“Now, my dears,” said old Mrs. Rabbit one morning, </em>
</p><p>
  <em>“You may go into the fields or down the lane, </em>
</p><p>
  <em>but don’t go into Mr. McGregor’s garden.</em>
</p><p>
  <em> Your Father had an accident there; </em>
</p><p>
  <em>he was put in a pie by Mrs. McGregor.”</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>Switzerland </strong>
</p><p>Kuryakin had more than enough photographs of the compound and the exteriors of the buildings. The first three had windows for easy viewing – a rudimentary office, a garage for utility vehicles and carts, and a shed with maintenance equipment and tool benches.</p><p>The fourth building was another matter. It had a front door and a rear door, and no windows. He picked the lock on the front door and eased it open. A slit of bright white light cut into the black night. He peeked inside and seeing no sign of a guard, slipped in. The building held rows of waist-high stainless steel tables lined with containers of soil and plants - strange, alien-looking plants, lit from above by tubular high intensity grow lights. Shelves beneath the tables contained potting soil and stacks of metal plant trays. He took more photographs, travelling down the rows of plants, then pulled the black nylon duffle from his shoulder and set it on the floor.</p><p>Kuryakin stowed the camera, then pulled out several clear plastic collection bags. He bagged a cluster of what might have been lettuce, but the leaves were brilliant orange. The table across the aisle held long red, string bean-looking growths hanging from green vines. He broke off a foot-long section of the vine and beans, rolled it up and stuffed it in another bag. Then he moved to a table of plants that he thought were radishes, but when he pulled a plant from the dirt, he found the roots bore a cluster of black acorn-shaped bulbs. He bagged the entire plant. He bent to the duffle and set the samples in it. </p><p>“Hey!”  A man’s voice at the door. Gunfire blasted across the steel tables shielding Kuryakin, plowing through the small-scale crops in their metal trays. The white grow light array snapped off, plunging the laboratory into blackness. A second later an alarm bell clanged, and red lights flashed overhead. Kuryakin scrambled down the aisle, grabbed a stack of empty plant trays and hurled them to the right. The guard ran off in that direction. Kuryakin darted back to his duffle bag, slung it onto his shoulder, and made a break for the exit sign lit by a flashing red light. He shoved through the door and ran to the gate in the center of the ten-foot-high chain link fence surrounding the compound. He yanked at the gate, but it refused to budge. He’d left the padlock hanging free of the hasp, but now it was locked. The guard must have— He grabbed at the padlock. It had changed. It was black, not silver. And the hasp assembly was different. Realization dawned. He spun around. He’d come out on the backside of the compound, through the lab’s rear, not the front.      </p><p>He threw himself at the chain-link fence, monkey-climbed to the top, and rolled over the sharp clipped-off metal twists on the top rail. His jacket caught, and he jerked and kicked until the jacket ripped free. Arms flailing, he hit the ground on his back, the air knocked from his lungs. He forced himself not to struggle against the pain in his paralyzed chest and staggered away from the fence.  </p><p>A minute later, he called Carlo Farenti, Section One Head, Europe.</p><p>----</p><p> </p><p>He’d been running for a long time. Long enough to hear the first whisper of self-recrimination. He’d been warned.  “Photographs and observation only. Do not go into the laboratory. It is guarded.” Farenti’s look held an unspoken threat.  There would be consequences.</p><p>He paused at the crest of a rise in the country lane and looked back, checking for Thrush pursuit vehicles. In the distance lay the compound. Behind the compound stretched the paved roadway he was supposed to have been on. The roadway that bordered a wooded pasture, where he’d hidden his car. He checked his watch, frowned, and kept moving. Farenti had estimated Marie would reach him in an hour. In the meantime, Kuryakin was to get as far from the compound as he could. The wind had picked up, whistling though the long grasses and scrub bushes lining the road. If he hadn’t kept looking behind, it would have been too late to hide from the automobile coming his way from the direction of the compound. He dove through the brush, down into the ditch, and landed in six inches of muck and water. The car slowed, then stopped. He drew his U.N.C.L.E. Special.  A series of jerky squeaks came from the car; the window was being cranked down. Marie’s voice called, “Illya.”</p><p>Kuryakin took a relieved breath; he hadn’t realized he’d been holding it. He rose and planted one foot on the embankment. His other foot was stuck in the mud. He jerked it free, but the mud sucked his shoe off. He bent to retrieve it, but Marie’s sharp “Hurry up!” changed his mind. He scrambled up to the road and ran to the car.</p><p>Marie took in his wet, torn jacket, his shoeless foot, the black bag. “Ever the intrepid spy.” She shook her head. “Get in the back.” Kuryakin holstered his weapon, opened the rear door, and got in. The car was in motion before he had the door closed. “What happened? You were supposed to look and leave.”</p><p> Kuryakin said, “I did look. Then I left.”</p><p>“So, what’s in the bag?”</p><p>Kuryakin said nothing.</p><p>“Plant samples?”</p><p>Kuryakin shrugged.</p><p>“Hah! Carlo said you told him you ran into a guard. You didn’t tell him you went into the laboratory, did you.” She glanced in the rearview mirror and shook her head again.</p><p>“It was there, I was there…”   </p><p>“Well, Carlo sent Deiderich and Gunter with a team to the compound.”</p><p>Deiderich was the Zurich Station Chief. Gunter was— Gunter. Old-timers said Gunter went all the way back to the Resistance days, running operations up in the border hills with Marie and Farenti.</p><p>Marie said, “By the time they got there, Thrush had cleaned out the lab. Nothing’s left.”  </p><p>“Then it's a good thing I was able to get the samples,” Kuryakin said.</p><p>“You were supposed to reconnoiter. Our people were going to raid the place tomorrow. That was the agreement. You just couldn’t resist, could you? Wait until Carlo gets his hands on you,” said Marie.</p><p>Illya’s stomach twisted.</p><p>----</p><p> </p><p>Marie handed Kuryakin a pile of fresh clothing and a towel and showed him to the bath. When he emerged from his shower, Marie led him to the living room sofa. “Make yourself at home. I’m going to get lunch ready.”</p><p>“Can I help you with anything?”</p><p>“No, I’ll take care of it. Why don’t you take a nap? You’ve been up all night. I’ll get a blanket.” Marie disappeared into the hallway.  </p><p>Kuryakin sank gratefully onto the sofa and looked around. On the coffee table lay a cut-glass candy dish of foil-wrapped chocolate eggs and bells. Beside the candy dish was a child’s book, its cover illustrated with a rabbit in a blue jacket. He took a chocolate egg, unwrapped it and ate it in one bite. He scooped a small handful, unwrapped several with impatience. How inconvenient, all this foil. He put them in his mouth at the same time and picked up the book. His jaws were still in motion when Marie returned with a folded blanket.“Those are for my granddaughter, you big oaf. Leave them alone. If you’re too hungry to wait for lunch, come and eat something now.”</p><p>“No, I’ll just close my eyes for a bit.”</p><p>“All right. Lunch will be ready in an hour. Gunter and Deiderich are coming.” Marie went to the kitchen.</p><p>Kuryakin watched her leave, then opened the book. He glanced at the doorway, then reached for an egg.</p><p>----</p><p> </p><p>“Illya!” Marie was shouting. Illya’s eyes flew open. “Those were for my granddaughter!” She scooped up a pile of foil wrappings and threw them in his face. She picked up the empty candy dish from his lap and waved it at him. “I told you!” </p><p>“Marie—”</p><p>“And where is the book? You’re sitting on it!” She lunged at him. He rolled to the side. She seized the book and hit him on the head with it.</p><p>“Marie—”</p><p>“Don’t ‘Marie’ me.” Marie slapped the book onto the coffee table.</p><p>“I’m sorry. I truly am.”</p><p>She sighed. “It’s all right. I know what a sweet tooth you have. I have another bag of chocolates, so no harm done, really.” </p><p>“That’s fortunate.”</p><p>She gave him a stern look. “For you, yes,” she said. “Lunch is ready. Come and eat.”</p><p>Kuryakin made a sour face. “I think I’m going to skip lunch. My stomach is feeling a bit touchy.”</p><p>“Too bad, you greedy little chocolate thief. Get to the table. Now.”</p><p>The kitchen was filled with succulent aromas of freshly baked bread and beef stew. Gunter and Deiderich were already seated, eating from soup plates filled with carrots, potatoes, onions and beef, mopping up the rich brown gravy with hearty slices of brown bread.</p><p>“Sit here,” Marie ordered, pulling a chair from the table for Kuryakin. He sat and picked up his napkin. Marie snatched it from his grasp, along with his soup plate and silverware. She marched to the counter and dropped it with a clatter. Kuryakin threw a surprised look at Gunter and Deiderich, who burst out laughing.</p><p>Marie returned to the table with the teapot and poured tea into Kuryakin’s mug. “Chamomile tea for a sick stomach. That’s what you get, Pyotr Rabbit, and nothing more!”</p><p> </p><p>The End</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
</body>
</html>